Home
by The Night was Moist
Summary: Across space and time, he journeys to her. A tale of Spock Prime and Nyota Uhura.


**A/N:** Thank you to audi katia for helping me with this. Significant portions of this story reference the classic Star Trek episode _The City on the Edge of Forever._ Many other episodes (and films) are also referenced, including some from Star Trek: TNG. However, this story disregards any events that occurred in the non-canon Star Trek novels, comic books, or fan films.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Star Trek.

**Home**

_60 minutes and counting_

As a moaning wind buffets his fragile form, he stands at the portal, waiting for the right moment to step through.

_55 minutes_

If he steps through now, he will materialize within a San Francisco apartment building on a July evening in 1986. He declines the opportunity, for 1986 is not his destination. Furthermore, he has been to that year once already. He did not enjoy his stay.

_51 minutes_

Within that apartment building is a bedroom. When he steps through, that is where he will appear. He can actually see this bedroom upon the portal's giant fissure. He can see it as it journeys through the years and decades. Furniture, rugs, and occupants - all of these things - change shapes, sizes, colors, and positions at incredible speeds. He muses that the entire experience is akin to watching a very peculiar film, one that is on perpetual fast-forward.

_46 minutes_

Looking into the portal, he notices that the décor of the bedroom is currently reflecting styles from 2055. He deems it a substantial improvement over what it looked like in 1986.

_42 minutes_

He ponders the nature of the portal. It is actually a living being, a highly intelligent life form of ancient origin. Its unknown energies allow its users to traverse both space and time, to any destination, and back again. Unfortunately, the portal can only display time in this painstaking 'film-like' fashion and cannot 'skip forward' directly to the year that he wishes. When he pressed the portal for an explanation for this, its only response was to bellow, 'I Was Made To Offer Time In This Manner. I Cannot Change.' It seemed rather defensive.

_38 minutes_

Staring upwards, he can see that the stars are out in full array, sprinkling brightly against a blackened sky. He muses that the shuttlecraft must have left orbit by now. Jim was very reluctant to leave him here on this desolate world, tucked away in an almost forgotten sector of the quadrant. In fact, it took the application of much dubious logic to finally convince his old friend that he would be all right. It was truly good to see him again…one last time. Unfortunately, the young admiral did not seem overly happy about his recent promotion. He can only suppose that some things never change.

_34 minutes_

Looking again into the portal, he notices that the décor of the bedroom now reflects standards and tastes from 2142. He finds their smooth contours are not visually disagreeable.

_33 minutes_

He reminds himself that he is a scientist, not an interior decorator.

_26 minutes_

He surveys his surroundings. He is currently standing within a great city, perhaps the capital city, of what was once a vast interstellar empire. It is an immense place, stretching in all directions for hundreds of miles. But he is not sure if this place should even be _called_ a city. For should a city not contain people? This one does not, and has not, for billions of years. Only remnants and ruins live here now. With no people, there are no lights, and this is a very dark place indeed. Looking again at the portal, he wonders how any living being could possibly endure such isolation.

_21 minutes_

He has been here before. She was with him.

_20 minutes_

He now looks at the place where she once stood, confessing her fear in the wake of an away mission gone terribly wrong. He _too_ is now afraid, no less afraid than she was then. For on the other side of this portal - this gateway - she will not be expecting him, and he does not know how she will react to his presence…or his request. Yes, he feels fear. It is but one of many emotions that are lingering within his mind.

_17 minutes_

He thinks about how he was trained from an early age to control such emotions, to make his mind almost impervious to their influence. His father trained him. He trained him very well. And for most of his life, he has been quite the expert at it. However, both age and wisdom have taught him that such training can be quite…overrated.

_14 minutes_

But it is not to suggest that emotional control does not have its uses. He knows all too well that it does. He knows, for instance, that when you live almost your entire life without the one person who is meant to be a part of you - in body and mind - emotional control can help deaden the pain.

_3 minutes_

The bedroom is exhibiting the more recognizable furnishings and fixtures of the early 2300s.

_1 minute_

He checks his tricorder. The timing of his entry will require great precision.

_32 seconds_

Taking a ragged breath through ancient lungs, he prepares himself.

_6 seconds_

Lifting a frail, creaking leg…

_1 second_

…he steps out of the shadows of alien ruins…

_Zero_

…and into the quiet of her dimly lit room.

She is the first thing he sees. Soft, delicate creases line her cheeks and forehead. These creases do not exist within many of his memories, but they make her no less beautiful. She is sitting up in bed, her immaculately groomed hands resting upon a book on her lap.

Her eyes are closed.

For a most harrowing moment, he thinks he has come too late, but no…he can hear her steady breathing, he can see the faint rising and falling of her breasts. Yes, she is alive. Yes, he is with her. His logic does not allow him to believe in miracles, but this almost feels like one.

Suddenly, an invasive chirping assaults his senses. He looks to the opposite wall to see a budgerigar of green and yellow tones, rather inelegantly perched upon a large picture frame. For such a small species of bird, this one looks somewhat…corpulent. It is strange. He does not recall her ever owning such a thing. Ignoring its arrogant squawkings, he moves to stow his tricorder into the recesses of his dark grey robe.

"Who's there?"

He looks up to find her staring at him. She cannot fully see him, for his shape is still half-hidden in the dimness. He experiences a tinge of guilt. Frightening her is the last thing he wanted to do, but what else did he expect would happen? Holding out his hands to calm her, he walks slowly towards the radiance of her bedside lamp.

"I apologize for the intrusion, Admiral," he states. "It is not my customary practice to stalk aesthetically pleasing women in their homes."

Her look of fear is wiped clean by one of unbridled shock.

"Spock?"

He bows his head. "Indeed, Madam."

Rapidly adjusting her gown, she sits up but does not rise from her bed. Does not rise…or cannot. Craning his neck to one side, he can glimpse a mid-sized hover chair sitting next to the far side of the bed.

"Computer, lights," she commands.

As sudden illumination floods the room, he lifts a hand to shield his squinting eyes.

"It _is_ you," she says with a wide stare. "But either I'm losing my mind or you're…"

"Do not be concerned, Nyota. Your mental faculties are as acute as they ever were."

"But what happened to you?"

"I aged."

"But that quickly? I just saw you half a year ago and…wait a minute," she says, her voice rising, "how did you get in here? Isn't my apartment locked? Did you _beam_ in here?"

"I will soon endeavor to explain everything." He gestures towards the empty space by the side of her bed. "May I…?"

She nods reluctantly, her arms crossed, her eyes emitting an icy cold expression. He has been on the receiving end of that expression numerous times in his life.

Picking up a nearby chair, apparently a very heavy chair, he slowly walks towards her. As he comes closer, he begins to notice the details of her gown. It is a traditional caftan, colored in multiple hues of orange, intricately woven with patterns inspired by her proud heritage. She often wore these garments when she was off-duty. If there is one thing he most remembers most about them, it is how simple they were to remove from her body.

Feeling a slight warmth upon his face, he sets the chair beside her bed and sits down upon it, although not quite next to her. No, she remains sitting in the center of the bed, not having moved to position herself closer to him.

"Once more, I apologize," he offers, sitting slightly hunched over. "But I knew of no other way to contact you."

"Well, there's _always_ the comlink," she says, giving him an admonishing glare.

"You are correct, of course. It was poor manners on my part. You see, I…"

Not knowing how to respond, he can only stare at the floor. He _should_ have called her, _warned_ her of his coming, but how can he explain that he is risking enough just being here alone with her? If he had entered from outside her apartment, he would have further risked changing events he has no right to change.

But then he feels a soft coolness, one that he has not felt in…in over a hundred years. Looking up, he can see that she is now leaning towards him, patting his hand with hers.

His trepidation vanishes in an instant.

"Spock. It's okay," she says, as she slowly scoots herself over to sit beside him. "I have to admit it's a little strange…really strange…but I trust you. It's just like you said, you're not usually one to do something like this. In fact, this whole thing feels…" With a start, her eyes glance around the room and then settle back upon him with a speculative gaze. "Spock, am I dreaming?"

An eyebrow arches. "Since you are quite obviously awake, I am unsure if I see the logic in your query." His eyes floating downward, an index finger becomes poised against his lips. "Unless, of course, you are inquiring as to whether you are actually asleep and are now dreaming this occurrence. If so, then I would suggest that the probability is exceedingly low, however…"

"Nope," she says rolling her eyes. "I'm not dreaming. It's _definitely_ you." She pauses for a moment. "So, why are you here?"

"I…merely wanted to see you. Though in truth I have several issues of concern. For one, how are you feeling?"

"You mean, _other_ than just having the living crap scared out of me?"

"Yes," he says with a confirming finger. "Other than that."

"Really good, actually," she says. "I've had a rough spell lately, but the past few days have been a lot better. They wanted to keep me in for observation, but you know how much I hate hospitals."

"Do you have someone who is looking after you?" To his shame, he does not even know who was assisting her during this time.

"Well, there's Cyrano," she says, pointing up to a spot in the corner of the room, where the bird has come to sit smugly upon the tip of a wall-mounted Klingon bath'leth.

"Cyrano," he says, sounding out the familiar name. "I am to believe that this…plumaged life form sees to your needs?"

"Yep," she says proudly. "Hey, he did warn me I had a Peeping Tom lurking in the corner, didn't he?" She gives him a furtive wink before turning to gaze fondly at the creature. "What do you think of him?"

Keeping his face carefully neutral, he shifts his attention to the small feathery being that is so thoroughly engaged in its incessant twittering.

"He is quite…"

Irritating.

"…colorful."

"He does look nice, doesn't he? I just got him a couple months ago, to keep me company. I couldn't bear to keep him caged up."

"Is there anyone else looking after you?" he asks. "Preferably someone who is sentient and does not…flutter around?"

"That would be Karen…my nurse. We stay in constant contact and she makes regular house calls. Every day. She's just _wonderful_."

"And that is all?"

"I'm a big girl, Spock. I can still take care of myself," she says with mock offense.

He can only shake his head. Right now, halfway across the quadrant, his counterpart in this time period is leading a peace conference on Cestus III. Soon…very soon, he will receive the news, and he will realize just how much he has failed her.

"Are you okay?" she asks with a trace of concern on her face.

"Yes," he replies.

Her eyes grow bright. "Oh, did you know Pavel and Irina were here the other day?"

"How is the young ensign?" he asks, with a faint smile.

"The young _fleet captain_ is doing just fine, as is his son. In fact, Dmitri just welcomed child number two into the universe. A boy."

"Indeed."

"They brought pictures." She glances about her. "Heavens, I don't know where I put them. Oh, Spock, he's so cute. And do you what they told me? Marina's expecting!"

"Marina," he frowns. "Chekov has a daughter?"

"What? No! Marina is Miko's youngest."

"Miko?"

"Miko! Hikaru's sister?"

"Sulu has a sister?"

"Yes, _four_ of them!" she exclaims, sheer exasperation written on her face.

"You must excuse me," he responds, as he attempts to keep the line of his mouth as level as possible. "My memory is not what it once was."

She gives him a most suspicious look and then shakes her head as awareness dawns. "Oh, you're just teasing me, aren't you? You're memory is just _fine._ Well, luckily, mine is too. Helps me keep track of everyone's babies." She reveals a smile that does not reach her eyes. "You know, sometimes I think I'm almost obsessed."

He looks into those eyes for quite some time. Then, rising from his chair, he walks towards to a large picture window situated on the wall across from her bed. He winces with every step. His body is already overtaxed and it feels like it is about to fall apart. The window is just 5.2 meters away, but to him it may as well be a kilometer. Eventually, he gets there. He gets there limping, but he gets there. Soon, he is looking down upon the French Quarter of San Francisco. Like him, it is a place out of time. A horse and carriage ambles along a cobblestone street lit mostly by gaslight. Restaurant patrons, enjoying the outdoor ambiance, pause from their meals as they watch it go by. Couples, both young and old, stroll down the sidewalks, perhaps on their way for a late showing at the nearby theatre district, or perhaps just taking comfort in each other as they bask in the clear spring evening.

It is fitting that she would live in this area of the city. She has always been a woman of culture, of sophistication, though much of it eclipsed by her warmth, a boundless warmth that held no pretentions, a warmth that can imprison your soul…if you let it. He did not. It took over four years for him to realize just how much he needed her. It took only one night for him to leave her behind. After their original mission, he fled to his father's world to spend more years on the Plains of Gol, in a futile attempt to completely purge himself of his emotions…to purge himself of her.

"What did you come back here for?"

He turns to face her.

"Back?"

"Yes. You're from the future, aren't you?"

"Well done," he replies, though without much surprise. He knows that along with her other fine qualities, she has always been a most perceptive female. "However, if I may modify your supposition, I will add that although I am indeed from your future, I did not just come from there."

"You mean…you were in the past?"

"Correct. Though, more precisely it was _a_ past, not _our_ past, as in, it was an altered version of our own." He waves a dismissive hand. "It is all rather complicated."

"Time travel always is, isn't it? I've done it enough to know. So why did you come here, to this time?"

"Like I had mentioned, to see you."

"That's it?"

He tilts his head. "Is that not enough?"

"Well, it's rather…flattering," she says, looking somewhat flustered, "but to tell you the truth, I'm not sure if it's a reason to risk altering _this_ timeline."

Finding it difficult to answer her, he makes a more thorough examination of the walls of her room. Indeed, numerous artifacts and artworks hang from them, gathered from her many travels across the galaxy. Some he recognizes from the old days. Others, he knows were obtained during her later years as a captain and then as an admiral. They are testaments to a life of great accomplishment.

"I am not overly concerned about that," he finally says.

A short stillness comes over the room before she finally speaks.

"So when _were_ you exactly, in this past you just came from?"

"It was around the time we were both serving together on the first _Enterprise_."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"But how was this past altered? What was so different about it?"

At her words, a familiar darkness comes over him and his hand rises, unbidden to his face. It is a memory that often strikes without warning and can never be blocked. He is standing on a frozen world, watching them die…watching _her_ die. Though he is over a million miles away, he can hear their screams in his mind.

"Spock, come here."

He lifts his head to see her holding out her arms to him. As if not of his own volition, he finds himself drawn across the room, once again taking his place by her side.

"_What_ was different?" she asks, grasping hold of his hands.

It takes him time to clear his mind and gather his thoughts, but he discovers that the evil memory is not as persistent as it used to be. Then, he turns to her.

"Numerous things…including the two of us."

"Us?" There is a slight faltering in her voice. "Do you mean…we…"

He nods. "In that time, we achieve a much more…permanent union…a happy one."

"Happy?" she whispers.

"Yes. We are…happy," he replies, his eyes looking deep into her own. "Both of us are. The man in that time found the courage to allow it to be so."

Looking away for a long moment, she returns to face him, her features settled into a determined gaze. "Spock, you shouldn't beat yourself up over it. It was really a long time ago, and even after we…you know…you were always a good friend to me."

He stares at her in astonishment. Friend? Even after he abandoned her, this woman - this incredibly selfless woman - she remained his friend, once even risking her career to save him. He muses that human females can often be the most illogical of creatures…and her most of all.

"I regret that I was unable to be more," he says.

She looks down upon her lap. "You know, I was never sure about that. Whether you did have regrets."

"I once told a friend of mine that I had no such regrets in my life." He pauses, allowing a small, poignant smile to settle upon his face. "I lied."

She looks back up at him in feigned surprise. "You? Lied? _Bad_ Vulcan." She playfully swats his arm. "This friend. Do you mean…?"

"No. He was an android. In fact, he will serve on a ship with the same name as our own."

"They have _androids_ in the future?"

His smile widens a touch at the wonder he sees in her face. "Indeed, although he is still the only one of his kind. Truly, he is an extraordinary being."

"And he actually serves on a Federation starship…an _Enterprise_?"

"Yes. She and her crew will do us proud, as will the others that come after her."

"Do us proud," she echoes.

He follows her gaze as she turns to look out the window. Above and beyond the lighted buildings, the stars can easily be seen, shining bright and clear.

"Oh God, Spock. Do you know how much I envy them? I miss those days. I miss the days when it was _us_ out there."

"As do I."

"Do you know what I remember most?"

He shakes his head.

"Well, there are a lot of things, but mostly I remember when I was bored."

His face grows perplexed. "Bored?"

"Bored," she confirms. "At my station. You see, one of my favorite ways of becoming _unbored_ was by sneaking peaks at you." Her eyes give him a prudent look. "As discretely as I could, of course." She shrugs. "I'm sure you noticed anyway."

"Every glance," he confirms.

She sighs. "Sometimes it felt like it was just you and me there. Just the two of us. Like the rest of the bridge or the ship didn't even exist. It sounds kind of silly, I know."

It is then he realizes that he has been running two of his fingers over her own. "Since I felt much the same, that would mean that I am…or was…silly as well. Obviously, that is quite impossible."

He jumps, as a loud flapping sound interrupts their moment. With a steely-eyed glare, he looks at 'Cyrano', who has now taken up residence upon her bedside lamp…right next to _him_. The bird seems to be eyeing him boldly with its small black orbs, as if it is challenging him for its mistress's affections. He then becomes conspicuously aware of two interesting truths: one, he has never attempted a nerve pinch on an avian before, and two, there is a first time for everything.

As if fully amused by his discomfiture, she gifts him with a carefree laugh and begins to run her finger across the features of his face, all the while surveying him like a doting artist.

"And do you know what else I miss?" she asks softly as she begins to stroke the tip of his ear.

"No," he almost groans, his eyes now coaxed shut.

"Whenever the bridge was being rocked about."

His eyes shoot open. "How could you logically miss such a hazardous occurrence?"

Cupping his chin, she leans in closely with sultry eyes. "Because that's when my sweet lil' tush would slip out of my chair and you would come pick me up with those big…strong…hands."

He clears his throat. "I…see."

Releasing his chin, she flashes her eyes at him. "Of course, sometimes, we weren't rocked hard enough, so I just had to fake it."

His eyes narrow. "Fake it…? Surely you are not suggesting…"

"Well," she says defensively, "it was before we became a couple! How _else_ was I supposed to get my kicks?"

"Nyota, are you saying that on some of those occasions, you were just…?"

She gives him a teasing grin and settles back against her pillow. It is then he remembers that as skillful as he was at provoking her wrath, she was always a true master at provoking his.

A long silence descends. After a while, he notices that Cyrano's ceaseless tweeting has stopped. Glancing around, he realizes that he cannot see the vainglorious bird anywhere.

"Spock?"

"Yes, Nyota?"

Her hands are held together, as if in prayer, the tips of her fingers grazing her lips.

"I'm going to die tonight, aren't I?"

Yes, she was _always_ a most perceptive female.

"That's why you're not concerned about the timeline," she continues. "My life ends here, so you don't have to worry about me changing the future because I've met you."

He tries to answer her, but no words arise.

"It's all right," she says. "I thought this was coming. I've heard that people often feel better a few days…before they go."

His gaze is hesitant. "Of course, you do realize that you could now call the hospital and possibly change the outcome."

"I could," she replies, nodding. "But I don't want to. I think I want it to happen now, when I'm free of pain."

No longer able to look at her, he fills the uncomfortable moment by staring at the bedspread of dark burgundy that covers her lower body, looking for patterns that lie there among the creases. He ponders if he is doing the right thing by being here. Before, she would have passed in the night, in peaceful ignorance of her true fate. Is that not the kind of death that so many long for?

But then, he looks again into her face and he sees that she_ is_ at peace. Her face is calm, unafraid…and it helps to ease his guilt. But still he feels compelled to speak, if only to help alleviate his own isolation.

"Nyota, you are not alone."

"I know that."

"Of course. But I also mean it beyond the literal sense."

"I don't understand."

"You see…I also do not have much time left."

With a somehow unsurprised nod, she moves again to envelop…and tighten her fingers around his.

"You know, it's kind of funny," she says.

He gives her an incredulous stare. "Funny?"

"Not _literally_ funny," she replies, her eyes looking to the ceiling. "It's just…a part of me thought you would live forever, you know, after all you've been through…and survived."

He shrugs. It is an uncharacteristic gesture. "Time always runs out, no matter how resilient we think we are, no matter how far we…bend the rules. In this past I spoke of, when I discovered that the end of my life was near, I realized it was time to go home."

"And you decided to do a pit stop here while on your way to the future?"

His face takes on a quizzical expression. "Pit stop? An interesting metaphor."

"How _did_ you get here, anyway?"

"The Guardian."

"The Guardian of Forever," she says softly to herself. "Of course."

"His powers are more vast than we had believed. He can even bridge alternate universes."

"Fascinating," she says, cocking an eyebrow.

He feels a slight upturn in his lips. "Indeed."

It is then that her face turns more serious. "Spock, what happened to you in that past?"

"What do you mean?"

"Something happened. I could tell by your reaction earlier. It must have been terrible."

"You have always been good at reading me. It _was_ terrible. But somehow...being here...it almost seems like a dream...a bad dream. But not all bad. It made me think more of you, about things that could have been…and perhaps still could be."

"Like _what_, Spock? Why did you come here?"

His answer remains stalled upon his lips, stalled by the fear of her refusal. She said before that it has been a long time since they were together. Has it been too long? Perhaps it has been. Perhaps her feelings are now mere shadows of his own. But then, he remembers that dark, lonely city and he remembers how it made him feel. He also remembers that soon he must go back there, and he does not want go back there alone, not if there is any other choice.

It takes him a while to gather his words - his courage - as she patiently waits.

"To do something I should have done long ago," he says at last. "To bond with you."

She gives him a look of disbelief. "Bond? Aren't we a little old for that?"

"For the physical aspect, yes." His mouth quirks. "Unfortunately, I would likely injure myself."

"But Spock, surely you must have bonded with someone after…"

"No. I did have partners. Knowing what you do about Vulcan biology, that should not come as a surprise. But I never bonded with any of them." He pauses a moment. "And though telepathic mating bonds often go part and parcel with Vulcan marriages, they are not a requirement."

"Marriages? You mean…you did finally marry?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

He can hear the disappointment in her voice. Somewhat perversely, it gladdens him.

"It is not what it seems," he says in assuring tones. "She was a woman I barely knew, a Vulcan matriarch of high standing, one who wished to obtain a _higher_ standing by uniting her house with our own. In truth, all she ever wanted from me was my family name to pass on to her heirs." An eyebrow flickers. "Which was indeed quite fortunate, because my name was all I ever wished to give her."

"But why did you do it, then?"

"I did it so that our house would live on, because I was the only remaining son, and I had no children." He makes a resigned gesture with his hand. "Perhaps most of all, I did it for my father." There is a slight pause. "Nyota, there are so many things in my life that I have done…" he looks into her eyes "…or not done, just to please him." Casting her eyes downward, she gives him a faint nod.

He then remembers how gaining the approval of his father had often been a frustrating and futile quest…and how the marriage had been no exception. For Sarek of Vulcan had actually _not_ been entirely pleased with it. No. He had wanted his son to enter into a true bonding arrangement, to produce heirs of his _own_ blood. But his son, for reasons of his own, had refused to fully cooperate. Yes, he would finally do what had always been expected of him - he would marry into Vulcan society - but in the end, he would only do so under his own terms. The wedding was perhaps the most significant of a long series of struggles that occurred between them, and the ceremony was one of the last times they ever spoke.

"What happened to her?" she asks.

"She passed away some time ago."

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you. Though, truthfully, we remained little more than strangers."

For some moments, she stares intently into the space in front of her. "You know, sometimes I wonder why I never got married…had a family."

He swallows. "I think you _do_ know why. Or am I mistaken?"

Facing him, she puts a hand on his shoulder, her large brown eyes reaching into his. "No. You're not," she says softly.

Her hand remains there for quite some time, until the quiet is broken by her chuckling. "Mind you, I haven't completely been an old maid. There have been others…like Scotty. Did you know that he and I once…" She gives him an uncertain glance.

"I did know. And I was not surprised. He was always the most warmhearted of us, excepting yourself, of course. And I believe he was lonely…like I think you were." He shakes his head. "Nyota, I am sorry for that."

"Don't be," she says firmly. "Spock, there are always tradeoffs in our lives." She gestures around the room. "I've had a great career, one I may not have had, if we'd…" she trails off.

"That is true," he replies.

"It _is_ true. I've lived a good life…and so have you. It's hard not to when we've had so many wonderful friends, seen so many wonderful things. Not just _anybody_ can say they've done the things we've done."

"No. Most definitely not."

"And maybe it's enough to know that there's a universe somewhere where we _are_ together." She gives him a hopeful little smile. "Maybe…with children?"

"Yes, there are children," he replies, as he gives her a smile of his own, perhaps the widest he has ever given while in his right mind. "And though I am not entirely certain, I suspect that we may be able to see them."

Her brows furrow. "See them?"

Reaching into an inside pocket of his robe, he takes out a small, square-shaped, metallic device. It is a holo-emitter, one that was once sent to him as a gift. It was quite a surprising gift, as he had decided to keep his distance from them…to let them live their lives free of the burdens of another universe. He has not yet seen the emitter's contents, at least not in their entirety, for it only took a few glimpses to become fully cognizant of the hole that existed inside of him, and he wanted to save the rest for this moment.

Gently placing it upon her lap, he taps a button on its side.

She gasps.

The air before her is now filled with a colorful, crisp three-dimensional image. It is an image of the two of them together, though they are much younger. She is smiling and he is not, but his arm is around her. They are standing in front of a blue, pristine lake that is surrounded by tree-covered slopes. A giant snow-capped peak takes up the entire background. It looks like a place on Earth, perhaps somewhere in the Rocky Mountains.

"That's us," she whispers.

"Yes."

He pushes another button that allows the emitter to automatically scroll through its contents.

Several more images appear of them together, on what is presumably their shore leave. Then suddenly, they are standing proudly next to Jim, Leonard and their other dear friends and shipmates. The setting is the bridge of a certain starship, a bridge that is at once familiar and unfamiliar.

"This is the_ Enterprise_?" she asks, glancing at him with a stunned expression.

"Indeed, it is," he replies, his eyes flickering with fond amusement.

"But everything looks so shiny…and sleek…and our uniforms…! Spock, you weren't kidding when you said this past was different."

"Indeed, I was not."

With an appraising nod, she points a finger towards the shimmering hologram. "You know, I think I really like my hair that way."

Some images later, they are sitting together on a couch, in a room that can only be her quarters or his. Once again, she is smiling and he is not. But once again, his arm is around her. In the image following, they are still sitting on that couch, her face now framed in laughter. She looks like she is attacking him…or tickling him. The result is much the same, as his face is set in a perpetual scowl.

"You always hated it when I did that," she says.

"Perhaps outwardly," he responds, causing her to gift him with a joyous grin.

Next, they are in what must be the ship's mess hall or recreation room. He is seated, his lyre in hand. She appears to be prancing on the floor a few feet away, her voice raised in song.

"Can't reach those high notes anymore," she says ruefully. "Can't move like that, either."

He responds by situating himself upon the bed beside her, as she shuffles over just enough to make room for him. Soon, he is wrapping one arm around her slight shoulders, as she reclines her bushy head against a space below his neck. Even through their clothing, he can feel the coolness of her body, but her warmth still fills him.

As time passes, they sit in rapt attention as more images appear. In almost all of them, they are together…on the ship…on shore leave…with their friends…with her family…at a wedding…their wedding. In one image, they stand facing each other, sharing their vows. He wears a dress uniform of satiny blue. She wears a long flowing, white gown. Jim is behind and between them, grinning from ear-to-ear. A large black book is in his hand.

"You look so handsome," she says, now clutching him tightly, her tears flowing freely.

"Thank you. Your appearance is not unacceptable."

She lightly smacks him on the chest.

Not long afterwards, there is an image that causes her to stiffen slightly, causes her to moan. Grasping his leg, she leans forward, her eyes completely transfixed by the sight she sees before her. Once again, it is an image of the two of them in their quarters. But as it can be seen by the size of her belly, it is _not_ just the two of them. Some images later, they are in sickbay and she is holding a newly born child. No…_two_ children, as the next image reveals. Twins. Judging by the colors of their blankets, a boy and a girl. Their delicate little faces are tinted by a shade of light creamy brown, and their pointed little ears can be seen amid dark shocks of hair.

"Oh, my babies. You're so beautiful!"

He turns to look at her. Her hands are resting over her awestruck mouth. Her tears are gushing, trickling down her fingers and onto the sleeves of her caftan. His own eyes are not without moisture.

On and on the images continue, of first smiles…first crawls…first birthdays…first steps…all of them depicting the beginning story of two young lives. Soon, it all comes to an end, the final image consisting of a family photo, taken against a desert landscape. Above that landscape, three giant moons hang upon a sunset sky. They are all standing together, those two young lives now barely coming up to their parents' knees.

His father stands beside them.

For an amount of time that is most imprecise, they lay there soaking that last image in, her arm now laying across the length of his chest.

"Why do you want to bond with me, Spock?" she finally murmurs into his shoulder, "Now, when the two of us are almost gone?"

His fingers move against her tear-stained cheek. "Because though there is so much we could never give each other, I want you with me for the rest of my life, for however long that is. And when I die…I want to feel you in my mind."

She turns her face upwards to look at him, her tears still glistening. "I would like to feel that, too."

It is taking every shred of emotional control he can gather to keep himself from breaking completely. In the end, he is astounded that he can still articulate a meaningful sentence.

"There is an interesting fact I thought I would mention. Some Vulcan philosophers say that a bond can never be destroyed, by distance nor death."

She is breathing heavily, her eyes taking up his entire world. "Really? Do _you_ think so?"

"Yes, I do."

"Well, if the oh-so-rational Mr. Spock can believe that, then why shouldn't I?" She begins to nervously wring her hands. "So…how do we do this?"

"I will take care of everything."

He gently shifts his body to position himself on his knees in front of her still form.

"You are so beautiful, Nyota," he whispers, as he leans forward to touch her lips with his.

"Oh, Spock."

A few minutes later, his fingers initiate the required contact points on her forehead and he softly recites the mantra. It all comes very easily to him…for he has done it enough times…in his dreams.

"What do you feel?" he asks, releasing his hands.

"I feel a lot of things," she replies, looking down in concentration. "Most of all, I can feel your voice."

He lifts an eyebrow. "What is it saying?"

She reveals a smile that enlivens him. "It's saying 'I love you'."

"I am not surprised," he says. "Your voice is saying the same."

Swallowing, she slowly gazes up at him. "Spock, can you stay with me tonight, before you go?"

The look he gives her suggests that the answer should be quite obvious. "Of course, my love. For I am home."

**The End**


End file.
